The Dangerous Kind & Other Stories by Robert Chazz Chute

innocent man.”
    “I’m guilty. Audrey and my wife think so, too. They won’t have anything to do with me. I don’t blame them.”
    “Burt, it’s all a big crapshoot. You got a bad bounce. Tell your wife and daughter that Marcus in the Morning forgives you your ignorance and they should, too. You’re not a monster. You’re human and we’re all guilty of that.”
    Burt began to cry. 
    “Thanks for the call.” Marcus disconnected Burt. “Well, look at us. We’re all yak, yak, yak. Let’s spin some Billy Ray Cyrus. You kids skipping school this morning hate his daughter’s songs, but this is adult swim time now and I’ve got something here for Burt. Burt, I’ve got a gift for you. Genie died of an aneurysm because Intelligent Design is a joke. It was a genetic, organic failure of the structural integrity of a tube in her brain. Your daughter with cancer lived because cancer cells grow wild and disorganized and sometimes they choke off their own blood supply and die off on their own.”
    Marcus took a sip of bottled water and thought for a moment. “Mysteries aren’t divine just because we don’t understand them…and one mystery doesn’t explain another. Saying God did it means nothing. One day we’ll know about the things we don’t know now and then we’ll know we would have been better off doing good deeds on Sunday mornings instead of screwing around in church. Sorry, but that’s the way it is. Burt, hope you find peace for your achy breaky heart.” He turned up the music as Billy Ray Cyrus echoed “ Achy Breaky Heart .” 
    Marcus’s smile faded as he looked up to see Donegal’s great red sweating moon face. Even through the thick glass, Marcus could tell his boss was yelling at Jimmy, the summer intern. Jimmy was Marcus’s call screener. If Jimmy hadn’t really wanted Marcus’s job, he might have pulled the plug and let the usual country songs play instead of letting Marcus’s rantfest continue.
    Then Donegal turned back to Marcus. The man’s eyes bored into Marcus’ head. Jimmy picked up a phone and waved for Marcus to come into the production booth. Billy Ray Cyrus’s voice followed him out as he leaned out of the studio door, careful to keep the door between himself and his irate employer.
    “What’s up, boss?”
    “If you’re going to change the format of my station, it would be a courtesy for you to let me know.”
    “Next time I change the format, I’ll definitely let you know.”
    “The Sheilas are getting a lot of angry calls.”
    “Yes. Should I pack up my stuff?”
    “Why?” Donegal said, looking more serene. “I was going to fire you because I didn’t think anyone was listening to your show. Turns out you can turn up the heat. Just make sure you don’t let the callers swear on air. You let that last poor bastard say ‘goddamn.’”
    “Goddamn,” Marcus said. “So, you’re saying I’m not fired?”
    “People are listening. That’s all I care about. You sucked last week because you were bored. When anybody’s bored, they’re boring. Get back in there and hit ’em again.”
    “I don’t know what else to say. I thought I’d get pulled from the air by now.”
    “Try slagging the government on taxes and gas prices. That always works. Or tell ’em they need to pay more for gas and we need to raise taxes. That’ll piss ’em off either way. The truer it is, the angrier they’ll get. Whatever.”
    “You really aren’t worried about ratings?” Marcus said.
    “People listen longer to people they hate than those they love. That’s what keeps families together.” 
    “Shit,” Marcus said. “That’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me since last night. You should know I really pissed off Mr. Chigley, the sponsor.”
    “Screw Chigley. He’s a lousy winner when I have to play a round with him and the few times he loses, he pays late. When he calls, I’ll listen to his complaint and then jack up the price. Just you keep up this